


Disarm

by nyoka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 12:50:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyoka/pseuds/nyoka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s driving just for the hell of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disarm

**Author's Note:**

> For Mia, because of everything. Coda to SPN 8.08. Originally posted [here](http://nyokafic.tumblr.com/post/37243711720/fic-disarm-dean-cas).

+

Dean’s driving just for the hell of it.

His baby is one of the many things he’d missed while in Purgatory, and he’s still getting used to being back behind the wheel, back in the only place he’s ever really known as home. The steady thrum of the Impala’s engine, the grind of dust and rock under her carriage, and the way she keeps him moving forward, always forward, when so many times Dean just wants to stop moving, stop going. Stop everything. Just _stop_. 

Dean blinks, hands gripping the wheel harder. It’s dark outside. Not too late, but not too early. The stars overhead are spots of white flame against a velvet-blue sky. Stars are just another thing Dean missed in Purgatory. There were never stars there, just a thick blur of cloud and mist all around them, darkness bleeding over more darkness.

Sam is sleeping back at the motel they found outside of Oklahoma City, and Dean’s been driving for hours now, having long ago watched the sky change over into night. He’ll head back soon and arrive in time for Sam to wake up. Dean will bring coffee and donuts for baby bro to dig into, and Dean won’t mention that he spent most of the night in the car on an empty stretch of highway trying to escape the shit in his head.

Dean doesn’t get much sleep these days anyway, not with the jittery feeling still riding underneath his skin, the one lasting reminder of his time in Purgatory. He didn’t sleep much in Purgatory either, truth be told, and it’s hard trying to get his four hours now when every instinct is still locked on fight or flight. Do or die. It’s been two weeks since Dean can last remember sleeping through the night. When he closes his eyes, it feels like he’s tumbling, a free-fall into blackness. Sometimes he panics; those are the nights he drives.

Dean sighs, blinking his eyes. The shadows stretch out in front of him, and his baby’s barreling down a nameless black highway, doing eighty-five, headlights spilling out. It’s familiar, but for some reason the comfort he usually finds in the act is still just out of reach. His brain simply refuses to shut down.

Before Dean knows it, he’s pulling over, the wheels kicking up dust as he slides the car onto the narrow shoulder of the highway, beside an empty field. He turns off the engine, listens to his baby cool down, and rests his forehead on the wheel. Within moments, he’s closing his eyes and praying, reciting words all-too familiar after a year whispering them into the darkness of Purgatory. “ _Hey uh, Cas, if you can hear me…_ ”

A flutter of wings, a brush of wind, and the familiar scent of ozone.

Dean raises his head and tosses a look at the angel now sitting in the shotgun seat. “Hey, Cas.”

"Hello, Dean."

Dean points to the backseat, to the greasy bag of burgers and fries he picked up from a cheap diner on his drive out of the city. “Hungry?” he asks.

Castiel frowns. “I don’t need—”

"Yeah, yeah," Dean huffs, crawling over his seat and grabbing the bag. He settles back down in the driver’s seat and says, "But do you _want_ a burger?”

Castiel looks at the bag, seems to think seriously about it for a moment, and nods. “Yes, I would like one.”

Dean dumps the burgers between them. He hands Cas one and grabs his own, unwrapping the plastic and taking a large bite. Ketchup and mayo dribble onto his bottom lip, and he darts out his tongue to lick at them. The burgers are kind of cold, but still decent enough. They eat in silence for a while, sharing the fries between them. Cas doesn’t ask why Dean called for him, and Dean appreciates that.

"You pulled over beside a corn field," Cas says after a time, looking at Dean while biting into his second burger.

"Yup," Dean says, nodding. He chews loudly, licking at his fingers, while glancing out the window at the dark field. "I did."

They don’t say anything else for another long beat, and then Castiel sighs, puts down his burger. He turns to Dean and says, “Thank you for the cheeseburger.”

"No prob," Dean says with a shrug, bite of burger stuffed into one cheek while he speaks. His voice is still muffled by the food, but he continues with, "Um, so, about earlier."

"Dean, we don’t have to speak of it," Castiel says, playing with the plastic wrap of his third burger. He looks at Dean, eyes dark and wary. "There is really nothing more to discuss."

Dean makes a sound of protest, swallowing around a mouthful. “Maybe not, but Cas…”

"Dean, please," Castiel all but growls.

"Come on man," Dean says, shaking his head. "You can’t just say something like that to me and not expect me to…I don’t even know. To want to…to talk to you about it. Or something."

"Why do you want to talk about it?" Castiel asks, head tilting, eyes squinting hard as he looks at Dean.

Dean shrugs, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat as he turns to stare out of the window again. He can just see the fullness of the moon, sharp and heavy as it sits in the sky. There was no moon in Purgatory either. “Just cause, man,” he whispers, turning back to Cas. _Because of everything._

Purgatory was moonless and starless, and sometimes Dean still feels it like an empty pit in his stomach, gaping wide, eating at him from the inside; everything he was there, everything he doesn’t know how to be _here_. Purgatory was simple: kill or be killed. Here though, nothing’s that simple. Here Dean needs to remember how to be something worth anything. And it’s hard. Dean doesn’t know how to be the kind of person Sam chooses, much less, wants to stay with. He doesn’t know how to sit here with Cas and say something to make the angel understand…how much Dean needs him to be okay. Needs him…

"Cas, come on," Dean whispers, putting voice to the few words he is able to speak aloud.

Cas sets his lips in a thin line, staring down at the leather of the seat. “Dean,” he breathes out.

"You think I’ve never felt like that," Dean says quietly, just needing to confess it, even to himself, even if his heart feels like it’s cracking open in his chest. "After you dragged my sorry ass from the Pit? After I lost Sammy? Bobby?" He stops, sucks in a breath and says, voice rough, "You."

Castiel looks up, eyes widening. “Dean,” he says again. He swallows, his eyes falling back to his half-eaten cheeseburger. He’s quiet for a long beat, and then says, “You can’t help me with this.”

"Then what’s the point of me then?" Dean whispers hotly, feeling the cold weight of his food, now settling heavy in his belly. Dean looks at Cas, and there’s something in his chest that feels like fear, like the panic he had in Purgatory, months and months searching for him. He throws down his burger, and scrubs a hand over his face. He sighs, settles back in his seat, and turns to face the dark night outside the windshield. "Fuck it." He closes his eyes, then he opens them; breathes in, then out. Bangs his head back against his seat because he just needs to feel something.

Cas is quiet the entire time. The night settles, long and dark around them, and Dean thinks about all the ghosts haunting the long stretch of tar-black highway before him, and he feels like maybe he’s been one of those ghosts most of his life, haunting back roads, living some kind of half-life. Broken and hungry for something he can’t name.

Dean’s not keeping track of time, but he thinks minutes or maybe an hour has passed in absolute silence, Cas still like a silent sentry, their food forgotten. Something’s riding under Dean’s skin though, panic flaring at the edges of his memory, and it feels like the real world is racing farther and farther away. It feels like…

"We’re no longer in Purgatory," Castiel says. The heel of Castiel’s hand skims against Dean’s upper arm, before his fingers close over his shoulder, tightening.

"I know," Dean whispers because Purgatory was something he could wrap his head around, and this shit is too friggin’ hard. He turns to see Castiel watching him, and then the angel is there, right there, up close, and Dean thinks again, _fuckitfuckitfuckit_.

Dean kisses him, and shit, it feels like he’s free-falling again, but this time the darkness is really some kind of light, and Cas is along for the ride, tasting like cheeseburger and feeling like something too close to home, and Dean’s thinking _what took you so goddamn long?_ and he knows there are things Cas can’t tell him, not yet, because there are things Dean’s never been able to tell himself, but there’s some kind of crazy light moving toward him, and even though Dean can’t sleep he wants to close his eyes and lose himself in this dream that’s not really a dream at all.

"Dean," Castiel whispers, pulling back only an inch, and his eyes are on him like Dean’s the only thing that’s real anymore.

"You don’t have to talk about it," Dean says, sucking in deep breaths and adding, "But you don’t have to do this alone either, Cas. I didn’t leave you back then, and I sure as hell ain’t leaving you now."

Okay, so maybe Dean doesn’t know exactly what to say to comfort Cas, how to tell him it’s going to be all right, and things probably won’t be all right anyway, because this is their lives he’s talking about, so Dean just shuts up and kisses him again, and Cas is kissing him back, hot and wet and too much tongue, and he’s shaking or maybe Dean’s the one that’s shaking, and Cas is saying something, or maybe it’s Dean that’s muttering stupid heartfelt nonsense, and the world’s moving in slow motion, and there are no stars in Purgatory, but there are stars behind Dean’s closed eyelids, dancing and swirling, and Dean is so not thinking about the stars right now.

They’re kissing, but things don’t really escalate, although the touching feels way too dangerous, like some kind of ticking time-bomb neither of them are probably ready to try disarming. Castiel’s hands are soft, squeezing into the bone above Dean’s hip _s_ , and Dean’s hands are pulling at Castiel’s hair, grabbing at Castiel’s coat, grabbing at Castiel because he’s real, he’s here, and fuck it, Dean ain’t losing him again.

When Dean pulls away, Castiel stares into his eyes and a heavy silence pushes between them. Their eyes hold for long moments though, and Dean starts to feel anchored by the physicality of Cas. Swallowing hard, Dean clears his throat, and says, “Heading back to Mr. Jones then?”

"Yes," Castiel says, voice a soft rumble. "But I’ll be around. Call me and I will come."

"Okay," Dean says, nodding. He clears his throat again and eyes Cas when he says, "Should we uh, talk about the kissing thing too?"

Cas shoots him a dubious look, brow raised. “Do you want to talk about it?”

"Uh, no?" Dean says, because fuck, sometimes he knows when not to push things. And Cas has this way of making Dean feel kind of crazy weird. He has this way of twisting up things inside of Dean, reaching places no one else has been able to get to, slipping in past Dean’s walls and carefully-crafted defenses, and Dean thinks maybe he does the same thing to Cas, because Cas is looking at him like Dean broke every wall Cas ever tried to erect.

Cas almost smiles, and Dean thinks it’s kind of cool how the moonlight slides over his face, shows off all his planes and curves and shadows. Cas seems to make up his mind about something, and he turns and grabs Dean’s shirt and uses it to drag Dean closer, and they stumble awkwardly together down into the seat, squishing their remaining burgers. It’s a confusing mix of limbs at first, noses bumping and mouths just missing each other, but then they seem to settle into some kind of coordinated movement, kissing again in slow, sloppy, perfect beats.

Dean thinks he should maybe worry about fucking this up, losing one of the best friends he’s ever had, but there’s something about the way Cas touches the curve of Dean’s shoulders, fingers brushing against the nape of his neck. His hands are good, really soft, skilled and slow and patient with Dean, mapping Dean’s body as they slide together. And maybe Dean just wants to feel the shape of Castiel’s body too, learn the lines of his muscle and the steady beat of his heart. He realizes how badly he wants to do just that, has wanted this for so long, too long, Heaven and Hell and Purgatory be damned.  

Dean pulls out of the kiss. He sucks in one sharp, uncertain breath, exhaling slowly. “I have no idea what I’m doing,” he confesses.

Castiel’s hand comes up to touch the back of Dean’s head. He holds the sides of Dean’s face and kisses him again, mouth wandering over his cheeks and forehead and chin. He’s slow and careful and deliberate, and he holds his lips for a long moment over the left side of Dean’s temple before he whispers, “Neither do I, Dean.”

Dean breathes against the hollow of Castiel’s throat. He’s so tired; he thinks maybe he could sleep after all. “So, um, you gonna watch over me for a while before I head back?”

Castiel runs careful fingers against the sides of Dean’s face, his touch cool against Dean’s flushed skin. “I can,” he whispers.

Dean smirks, pulls Cas closer. “Then I guess I gotta watch over you too, man,” he whispers, and Castiel doesn’t fight him on it, and yeah, Dean considers that a victory.

\- fin -


End file.
